In this new video game from Hasbro or whoever, you drive
around the great thoroughfares of the world in a beat-up
old SUV with a chainsaw in back. You drive and drive
and drive until you finally spot a Lexus going in the
opposite direction, at which point you immediately
execute a stunning one-eighty controlled-drift U-turn
across median strips and all kinds of other perverse
impediments in heavy traffic in the fog and rain, and
chase it and, despite sideswiping a hearts game where
somebody with too much hubris or the masochism gene is
shooting the moon on queen, nine, three, eventually
catch it and chainsaw the living fuck out of its stylish
elegance or whatever. 5 points.

When you accumulate 100 points in this fashion, you are
automatically promoted to president of IBM or Boeing,
but the day after your swearing-in ceremony where people
are picking their noses and staring at sub-atomic flecks
of crystal meth under their fingernails as you take the
oath of office, the press is already writing subtly
destructive articles about you like:

IBM or Boeing bets store on
online surgery being killer app

Eyes shut and eating non-genetically engineered
food as she spoke, IBM or Boeing president, Rebecca
Sunnybrook, today announced the formation of the
Let's Learn By-Pass Surgery on the Internet
Institute, a $57-billion research initiative that
will bring together experts in academia and
industry to address the problem of teaching people
how to give each other quadruple by-pass surgery
over the internet in their living rooms, and the
problem of life itself suddenly being more
unavoidable than death itself. And of how not even
swallowing 4 triple AAA batteries (not included) is
enough anymore.

"This is a serious problem," said Sunnybrook, at
3AM, acid-taking time, "and blah blah blah."

The "blah blah blah" is taken from the universal
language which, by definition, everybody in the
universe understands except you, and is merely a
way to add emphasis to what the speaker was
thinking but unwilling to say for fear of reprisals
against somebody else who looks like her and walks
and talks and thinks and is pissed off like her but
is NOT her, so why should she suffer MORE than
Christ and her, put together?

Anyway, you are unphased by the article, whose virulence
only makes you stronger, and immediately you launch into
supercomputer-scale processing initiatives that combine
massive computation and sophisticated software
algorithms. But the shitted-out press just says, like,
hey, what's up with that?

Stupidly, you still want to include optimization,
simulation, and visualization, as well as advanced
pattern matching and discovery.

Suddenly the room you are in goes all wacky. It has
apparently been a Trojan horse or trapdoor for the game
all along and has secretly stored the digitized
recording of a deeply human phoneme in your cookie file
to jump out unexpectedly, one day, at what its neural
nets determine is the most inopportune time.

As a result, you are deceived into swallowing the same 4
triple AAA batteries which you accused of being not
really enough anymore, but of course you were misquoted
in that article, and misunderstood and no reporter even
talked to you, and instead just made it all up out of
old journalism articles, old movies, and his ass.

You wake up in a hospital where genetically engineered
surgeons are very nonchalantly backing out tenth-story
plate glass windows in the rain just as they're
preparing to sew you back up.

When they hit the street, it's night and there's nothing
but empty warehouses on two sides and the bay on the
third, lapping at the dock only a few yards away.

Frogmen appear from the bay side and take the wounded
surgeons to their hover craft.

To be continued...

Without them, now, the stock market crashes.

The earth is thrown into a turmoil as all its markets
for air evaporate.

Nobody wants to hear air guitar anymore or play air golf
or air tennis. Or have an air war or air sex. Or
breathe air air.

When you finally leave the hospital it turns out they
didn't have the Singer Handy Stitch (TM) mender so they
had to use the Singer Button Magic (TM) button stitcher
to sew you up instead, so you now have buttons all up
and down your former incisions. But don't worry. These
will just become a natural part of your flesh. Or vice
versa. 7 points.

You sit down at one of the tables outside Manny's or
whoever's and glance at the trades. All top 10 box
office grossing films of the past week have "ate my
balls" in their title. Preceded by the name of their
star. And all their blurbs say, "Lives up to its
title!!!"

You try to re-orient yourself by glancing at the
headlines other people are reading the stories to, at
nearby tables, in the rain:

All movies must now have "ate my
balls" in title, censorship committee rules.

The Joint censorship committee today ruled that....

Life apparently just a metaphor,
study finds

A study by the Is Life Just a Metaphor Institute today
found that, indeed, so-called life really is just
a so-called fucking metaphor for something else which is
beyond the scope of this study and this institute.

The Institute for the Study of Whether Staggering Around
Drunk On Your Ass Is Just A Metaphor today released its
findings that, indeed, staggering around drunk on your
ass really is just a metaphor for something other
than itself.

Study findings suspect, study
finds

A study by the Institute for the Study of Study Findings
found today that...

Anti-missile missile blows itself
up

An anti-missile missile, today...

People who think they have a million
ideas, only really have one or two, study
finds

A recent study conducted at MIT of 100 people who kept
saying "I got a million ideas" has found that 48.7% of
these people only really had, like 1 or 2 ideas at
best. The remaining 51.3% had no ideas whatsoever.